A Kiss for Surana and Other Not Quite Stories
by will-o-whisper
Summary: Vignettes and drabbles from the world of Dragon Age. May contains spoilers for all games and DLC.
1. DA:O, mSurana, Kiss, G

_Notes: A collection of drabbles (mostly in the 100 to 200 word range), written for the lightning round challenges at dao_challenge on livejournal. Characters, warnings, and ratings vary by story and will be noted, and content may include femslash, slash, het, gen, and everything between. Overall rating, based on the highest rated story archived, is subject to change. Updated weekly, give or take._

_**Prompt:**__ Kiss_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Unspecified; written with m!Surana in mind_

_**Warnings:**__ None_

_**Rating:**__ G_

* * *

He has few memories of life before the Tower, save the stray ones that sometimes stir in dreams—a voice, perhaps, or the warmth of an embrace. Few mages have even these, and he hoards his treasures selfishly, tucking them away deep in his heart, for when the nights are colder than usual. But there is one he holds particularly dear.

She was, he thinks, his mother; he recognizes her eyes when he looks in the mirror. The same eyes that smile over him in the dark before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

He always wakes up here, try as he might to cling to sleep. So he closes his eyes again, and if he is lucky, he can feel the brush of her lips against his skin. He wonders if she remembers, if she even cares.

The not knowing is the worst. It is these nights he wishes he still had tears enough to cry.


	2. DA:O, Marjolaine Leliana, Holiday, PG

_**Prompt:**__ Holiday_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Marjolaine / Leliana  
_

_**Warnings:**__ None_

_**Rating:**__ PG_

_**Notes:**__ Summerday is an actual holiday in Thedas, and a holy day in Orlais. Celebrations often include a procession of boys and girls, ready to come of age, to the local chantry. They wear white tunics and gowns._

_

* * *

_  
The woman had the strongest hands Leliana had ever felt; they cupped her face, forcing her to meet dark prying eyes.

"What beautiful women girls become on Summerday," the woman murmured, a silky voice that stoked unbearable heat in Leliana's abdomen. "But you could be so much more. Perhaps we begin by removing that horrid white tarp, hm?"

Leliana hesitated only a moment before nodding slowly. She did not trust her voice. Perhaps the woman sensed her anxiety, because she laughed before leaning forward to brush her lips across the shell of Leliana's ear.

She whispered: "You may call me Marjolaine."


	3. DA:O,fTabris Alistair, Love Triangles, G

_**Prompt:**__ Love Triangles_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ One-sided Alistair/f!Tabris(Ida) ; implied Leliana/f!Tabris(Ida)_

_**Warnings: **__None_

_**Rating:**__ G_

* * *

Alistair knew he was wrong, could tell by the way Ida's expression fell as she twirled the rose between her thumb and forefinger.

"You shouldn't have," she said. That was all.

Still, he had to try. All he'd lost, he could still save this. Mustering all the strength he didn't have, Alistair smiled. "I picked it in Lothering. It reminded me of-"

"No." She looked up, frowned. "I mean, you _shouldn't_." She held out the rose; let it between them like a memory. When he refused it, she snorted and let it fall. For a moment she lingered; her eyes met his, and he almost thought she might run to him, all tears and apologies.

But she never would, of course. She turned and left without a word, bounding to the campfire where Leliana sat. Alistair watched as Ida tapped Leliana's shoulder and smiled before settling down beside her.

Neither woman saw - while Leliana combed her fingers through Ida's hair against playful protest - when Alistair crushed delicate red petals beneath his heel.


	4. DA:O, mSurana, Maleficar, PG

_Prompt: Maleficar_

_Character(s)/Pairing(s): m!Surana(Drust)_

_Warnings: Mildly graphic depiction of ritualistic self injury (cutting), blood_

_Rating: PG_

_

* * *

_  
A boy was dead, or as good as, by Drust's hand. Perhaps it should have mattered. But as he leaned, one hand outstretched, a knife in the other, over a small desk in the private room so graciously gifted by Bann Teagan, Drust did not care. He cared for the blood that roiled beneath his skin, for the itch that swelled to an unbearable crackling burn. Without a tremble he pressed the blade to his palm and sliced. There was, first, a sharp sting, and then the magic began to flow; it pooled sticky and red in the webbing between his fingers, before glowing brightly and bursting into flame.

'Twas a small fire, just enough to light a candle. 'Twas enough for Drust. As he bled freely, as the little ball of flame danced, casting shadows across his face, he knew.

A family had died for this, first a mother, soon her son. It mattered not, for this was the magic, above all magics, feared by the templar dogs.

A vicious grin twisted across Drust's lips at the thought. A laugh swelled in his throat, tore free as a bark.

The templars were right to fear.


	5. DA:A, fTabris, Elves, PG

_**Prompt:**__ Elves_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ f!Tabris(Ida), implied Leliana/f!Tabris_

_**Warnings:**__ None_

_**Rating:**__ PG_

_

* * *

_  
Her mother had taught her to always reach beyond her station, so Ida grew with misinformed ideas about the world and her place in it. Though the Alienage, a living breathing creature as truly as the souls within it, beat against her, chipping ever away at the lies her mother had strived to build, rocking her from hate to hope to hate again, a part of Ida believed as only a child could believe that things could change. Only after the Grey Wardens, Amaranthine, did she see.

She was an Arlessa and an elf when she met Velanna, who was Dalish, and in this other woman she saw not herself, but a freedom she had once had and lost, and only now she could feel its lack. Velanna was snappish and brash, heartbroken and hateful; she knew what she had, what she did not, what she could not. She felt and lived loudly and without apology, for though the world demanded one what had she to lose in refusal.

Ferelden politics were not friendly to living feeling elves. So Ida could not be, except late some rare nights in the company of Leliana, who could not know but loved, or Zevran, who could not love but knew too well. As Arlessa she could not be an elf, but she was not a human, and she apologized for both for there was too much to lose in not.

Velanna was an elf. When she vanished in the siege at Amaranthine, Ida felt only shame, for herself, and a sharp lurking jealousy.

At the end, though she cried for the others, Ida was not sad for her Calling. She thought of Velanna and felt free.


	6. DA:A, Sigrun Nathaniel, Heat, G

_**Prompt:**__ Heat_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Sigrun/Nathaniel_

_**Warnings:**__ None_

_**Rating:**__ G_

_

* * *

_

Early in the morning, when the sun had just begun to rise and before the others had awoken, Sigrun knelt beside Nathaniel in his bedroll and gave his shoulder two gentle shoves. "Up and at it, come on. You're not fooling me." And he hadn't, for with a grumble, Nathaniel rolled onto his back, ran a hand through his hair, and pulled himself to his feet. Sigrun laughed. "Follow me."

She led him through the woods, some ways from the camp, to the top of a small hill over which the sky sprawled pink and gold. Here Sigrun sat, pulling Nathaniel down beside her.

"Alright, what's all this about." He huffed, his voice more aggravated than he.

She gave him a shove. "Just be quiet and look. There!" Out on the horizon the sun peeked grand and bright. Sigrun pointed, a smile blooming over her face; she turned to Nathaniel as she spoke. "It's beautiful right? I mean, it's probably nothing to you, but I never saw many sunrises in Orzammar. Shocking, I know."

"I've...never really minded it before. But it's nice. It's very...very nice." Heat flared in his cheeks, and he looked away suddenly, coaxing an amused snicker from Sigrun. She sighed as she settled against his elbow.

"You look hot," she teased. He only snorted.

As the glow from the morning sun stroked her face, as the heat from her companion's body enveloped her side, Sigrun closed her eyes and felt content, but for the unbearably wonderful and unwelcome warmth in her chest.


	7. DA:O, Oghren, Dwarves, PG

_**Prompt:**__ Dwarves_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Oghren/Branka_

_**Warnings:**__ Some swearing_

_**Rating:**__ PG, PG-12_

_

* * *

_  
Oghren smashed her horses the day she left. Off she went, not a word in her mouth and fire in her eyes, the whole damned house behind her but him. They laughed, he knew. He'd've laughed too, what, a Paragon's husband too worthless to even follow her to suicide.

Ha!

So he smashed the horses. Knocked them all off the stone shelf she liked to keep them on so she could see them. They were sorry human things, made of glass and porcelain that crashed against the stone floor. Bits of heads and hooves skittered about, and he crushed them beneath his boot, all violence and rage until he was nothing but an empty drunk.

He sank to the floor, snuffling loudly, beard damp with tears and snot. That damn woman. Stupid woman. That fucking spiteful amazing woman. He made a choice, while he tried to put the figurines back together with clumsy fingers that dropped and crushed the fragile little fragments. The one he knew he would, the one he had to. He'd go after her; someone would help. Of course they had to. She'd made a mistake.

They'd make it work, like they always had.


	8. DA:O, fBrosca Rica, Fate, G

_**Prompt:**__ Fate_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ f!Brosca(Basa), Rica_

_**Warnings:**__ None_

_**Rating:**__ G_

_

* * *

__  
You could be a Paragon_

Rica has told Basa this every night since Basa can remember. When their mother was drunk, cursing herself and the walls and them and their fathers, Rica hid Basa under the covers, held her like a doll.

_Just imagine. You could be so great. I know you can.  
You could be._

But Basa does not believe in could be. She believes in fate, and her fate as a casteless is violent and bleak. When she does what she must, Rica's voice, full of sadness and certainty, drifts up from the depths of her that dare not hope, and Basa beats it down, as she has been beaten down. There are no "coulds" in Dust Town.

Except when there are, when the Warden comes and somehow he finds her. He has a face that is hard and cannot help but be kind. He has a face that dares Basa to hope, like Rica dares her to hope. She hates it. But she goes because she must, and she is very good at doing what she must. Rica hugs her, kisses her, cries because she is too happy not too.

_Go on, do great things. Be a Paragon._

Basa is not a Paragon. But she stands at her Joining with the goblet in her hands. The blood it holds is thick and toxic. She raises the cup to her lips.

Basa is not a Paragon. But she must be one, for Rica. She drinks, and for a moment she is enveloped in warmth that feels like blankets and loving arms.

And then there is nothing.


	9. DA2, Isabela fHawke, Time, PG

_**Prompt:**__ Time_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Isabela/f!Hawke(Puck)_

_**Warnings:**__ Spoilers for the end of Act 2._

_**Rating:**__ PG_

_**Notes:**__ Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal._

* * *

Only in the end of the third year did Isabela realize the path she'd carved of tavern brawls and drunken tumbles had led her back to Kirkwall and the beat-down doors of the Hanged Man. So she took her place at the bar and called for stale-piss swill, did so easy as the day she left. Varric still kept a room here, or he didn't; one of the others would hear of her, or they wouldn't. It would be as if she never left, or as if she had never been.

She drank, and waited, and listened. "Champion" and "Hero" still fell from so many lips, all these years later. She strained to hear the name, "Hawke" or "Puck," the short pleasant laugh or the sharp thunder clap. They never spoke it, didn't know or didn't care, even as they told and retold the story of how She alone felled the mighty Arishok, for glory, right, or honor. No surprise to Isabela, who knew these sad souls as herself, that they all forgot the most important parts: the name, the little wink, the whispered "Don't worry. I've got your back."

They forgot the part where Isabela loved and fled, only to return and flee again. She didn't blame them. She'd tried so hard to forget too.

But she came back, to a haunted place where everything had changed and nothing was new. She'd tried to forget and might try still, for the thought to run had not quite left her restless heart. But for now she drank and waited, and, when the seas of her had calmed enough, dared think she recognized the woman and dwarf who'd just come laughing into the storm.


	10. DA2, Anders Merrill, World Falls, PG

_**Prompt:**__ As the world falls down_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Anders, Merrill_

_**Warnings:**__ Dragon Age 2: End game spoilers_

_**Rating:**__ PG_

_**Notes:**__ Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal._

* * *

"You came back. To help make this right." The way Merrill said it, it was almost a question, like she couldn't quite believe Anders was standing there.

He couldn't quite believe it himself. He'd planned to die there in the streets of Kirkwall, the ashes of the Chantry and its brothers and sisters raining on him. So certain he'd been of his end that when Hawke, eyes wild and broken and _hurt_, told to him go, just go, Anders wavered and ran to the only place he could.

An age later Hawke stumbled the doors of the Gallows. Anders met his eyes and was not turned away, but nothing more.

And that should have been that. The mages were too few and too untried to fight and win; the best they could hope was to slow the templars with as many bodies, to give the apprentices time to flee. Anders needed neither friends nor words to do that much. He had none, or shouldn't have. Not anymore.

But there was Merrill, scuffing a bare foot on the cold stone floor, the only one to willfully meet his eye. "You don't like me," she said. "But I'm glad you're here." And then she was gone, before he could reply, back at Hawke's side, saying something though Anders could not hear what. He caught them both glancing at him, expressions shifting and incomprehensible.

Outside the Chantry still fell; the world was ending and for the better. But in the Gallows hearts were roiling, changing, and Anders thought Merrill was wrong. Nothing could be done to make this right.

Somehow, it was much too difficult to say it did not matter.


	11. DA2, Aveline fHawke, Friendfic, PG

_**Prompt:**__ Isabela and Varric's fabulous fanfics_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ Aveline, f!Hawke(Puck)_

_**Warnings:**__ Vague spoilers for Dragon Age 2 banter._

_**Rating:**__ PG_

_**Notes:**__ Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal._

* * *

"Got a present for you!" Puck dropped the stack of parchment on Aveline's desk, right on top of the report Aveline had been writing. "The third one's my favorite, personally—I think Varric helped a fair bit. Not that Isabela doesn't have a delightfully filthy mind, you know, but she lacks his way with words, can't put that imagination to full use for the rest of us and…oh!"

"Hawke."

Papers scattered across the desk, upset by Puck Hawke's eager lunge for the bundle she'd just put down. Aveline cursed, pushed back from the desk, and tried in vain to rearrange the mess made of her workspace. "Hawke," she said again, louder, more forceful. No response. She was being ignored. Of course.

"I think you'll really enjoy this one." Having found whatever she was looking for in the fluttering pages, Puck slapped them back down and leaned in 'til her nose nearly brushed Aveline's. "It's mostly smut, admittedly—look at you! Don't think I haven't noticed which books are going missing from my library—and I wouldn't let Anders and Fenris know about it, but…actually. Maybe we _should_tell them. Do you think it'll give them ideas?" A mischievous light went off behind Puck's eyes. Aveline recognized that look that always predicated the beginnings of a mess she would be responsible for cleaning up. Well, not this time.

"_Hawke_." Aveline relaxed when Puck looked up, startled. "Hawke," she repeated, quieter but just as stern. "What's this all about?"

"Isabela's stories! And Varric's too, really. Don't be angry with me, Aveline." Puck pressed her palm to her breast; a wounded expression fell on her face. "You're the one who wanted to see them! I'm only doing a kindness for a dear friend."

"I did."

"You look at me like I'm a liar! Last night, at the Hanged Man. Don't you remember? You were very interested in Bela and Varric's conversation about 'friend-fiction.' Of course, you were also very drunk…"

In fact, Aveline couldn't remember. She did, however, recall having an indecent amount to drink; she was beginning to understand why. The stirrings of a headache thrummed against her brow. She pressed a finger to her left temple. "I see. And they just, what, let you have these?"

"I borrowed them." Puck grinned, but slinked towards the door when Aveline frowned. "But I can see you're in no mood to chat right now, so I'll just leave you to yourself. One more thing though." Puck's grin grew even larger. "The stuff about you and Donnic is towards the end." And with that and an immature giggle, the door clicked shut.

Aveline cursed again. She was a busy woman, with a husband to keep and women and men to protect. She had no time for all this nonsense.

And yet. Just a little bit. It couldn't hurt.

Aveline tidied to her desk quickly and efficiently, tapping the collection of no doubt scandalous tales into a neat pile. The guardhouse was quiet at the moment; nothing required her immediate attention. After an almost guilty glance at the door, to assure herself no one was watching, Aveline picked up the top sheet in the pile and began to read.


	12. DA2, Bethany fHawke, Little Sister, G

_**Prompt:**__ You'll always be my baby brother/sister_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s):**__ f!Hawke(Puck), Bethany_

_**Warnings:**__ Post-game. No explicit spoilers, though._

_**Rating:**__ G_

_**Notes:**__ Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal._

* * *

"What do you think Mother would say, if she were...if she could see..."

Puck waits, watching Bethany with what Bethany remembers as uncharacteristic patience. But Bethany cannot finish her thought. She turns back to look out over vast blue plains of the sea. Rolling white capped waves break against the hull of the - Isabela's. Puck's. Their - ship.

"What happens now?"

"Dinner, I hope. It is getting rather late." Bethany looks again to her sister. A small grin, tight but honest, graces Puck's lips. Bethany chuckles despite herself. It's a good sound for a good sight. They've had few reasons for smiles and laughter since Kirkwall.

"I'm serious!"

The sister Bethany remembers would have dismissed her comment with another laugh and quip. That Puck's snicker dies and her face turns serious is but another reminder that this woman bearing her sister's name and wearing her sister's face is not the sister Bethany lost. Nearly a decade in the Gallows, for all Bethany has gained, has taken so much from her.

Perhaps her sadness peeks through her eyes, for without comment Puck steps forward and draws Bethany into her arms. Bethany embraces her tightly and rests her chin on her shoulder as naturally as she'd done when they were children.

"She would be so proud of you, you know. She would look at you and say 'My little Bethany has become so strong.'" Puck's voice catches, with tears, except that Bethany knows her Puck does not cry. Sniffing softly, Puck begins to comb her fingers through Bethany's coarse dark hair. She murmurs: "My baby sister has grown so much.

"I don't know what's going to happen, Bethany. It's too dangerous for you here. It's too dangerous for you anywhere, the Templars…"

"I know."

"I don't want to lose you again."

"I know ."

"I never stopped missing you. I never will."

"I know. I know."

Something wet rolls down Bethany's cheek, and it takes a moment to realize her face is wet with tears not just her own. Puck presses her lips to her sister's temple before burying her tear-streaked face in her hair; she sobs once: loud, strangled, broken. Bethany pulls her close and says no more.


	13. DA2, Isabela Fenris, Read, PG13

_**Prompt**: Read a book_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: Isabela/Fenris_

_**Rating**: PG-13_

_**Notes**: Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal. The Stone Temptress is a reference to some silliness courtesy of Aimo._

* * *

"I got you something. Well, got us something really." Isabela is pleased with herself, a harbinger, Fenris knows, of very bad but always interesting things to come.

"It's a book." And a well-worn one at that. Fenris runs his fingers along the cover, over the slightly indented title. With some effort he sounds out the words. "The…_Stone Temptress_?"

"One of my favorites! It's a good one for you," she slides an arm around his shoulders and leans forward against his back to flick the book open. "It's got pictures."

Indeed it does. Fenris nearly snaps the _Temptress_ shut on Isabela's fingers. She pulls her hand back and laughs, warm and honest, in his ear.

"I thought," she purrs "We could read it together."

Fenris pulls out of Isabela's hold and tucks the book under his arm. His voice is steady, bored even. "Then I expect to see you tonight."

Isabela grins. It's very bad.

And very, _very_, interesting.


	14. DA2, Isabela fHawke, That Rug, PG13

_**Prompt**__: That rug really pulled the room together_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**__: Isabela/f!Hawke_

_**Rating**__: PG-13_

* * *

Hawke moved first to run a lazy hand down Isabela's sweat-slicked back. "That was," she was still panting slightly, "…something."

"Damn straight." Isabela rolled off the other woman with a grunt, and sprawled across the new bearskin rug Hawke had scoffed so much at. Fur raked pleasantly over her back and rear before Isabela arched up, pressed her shoulder blades into the floor, and cracked her back with a groan. "Admit it, Beautiful, I was right. This rug is exactly what your room needs."


	15. DA2, Varric fHawke, The Last Thing, G

_**Prompt**__: The last thing Varric ever says to Hawke_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**__: f!Hawke, Varric_

_**Rating**__: G_

* * *

She shoves her journal into his hands and that act is more final than any goodbye. "Don't fight about it," she says. "It's yours. Make a good story out of it."

The spine is heavily creased. Frayed threads have come loose from the binding, and some of the pages are falling out. He tucks them back in as he nods. "For you Hawke, only the best."


	16. DA2, Varania Fenris, Water, G

_**Prompt**__: Water_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**__: Varania, Fenris_

_**Warnings**__: Spoilers if you don't already know who Varania is_

_**Rating**__: G_

* * *

On warm days, when Master was in a good mood and Mother was allowed to work in the garden, Varania sat with Leto by the pond to watch the fish. Master had many: bright and dark, big and small, beautiful and hideous. They darted beneath the surface, sunlight sometimes catching their scales, sending ripples over the water. Leto liked them and would spend hours, when he could, lying on his stomach by the water's edge, sometimes dipping his hand into the water so the more adventurous creatures could nibble at his fingertips. When she was certain no one watched Varania would skate her own fingers across the pond's surface, painting delicate ice crystals that made her brother's eyes light up. Sometimes he smiled. Varania liked that.

It was a good life. Master fed them enough and clothed them well, and they were rarely beaten. They had a lovely pond and pretty fish and a family. Young though she was Varania knew she was lucky to have a brother and a mother, when so few slaves had neither. She was lucky to have Leto's wide eyes and little smiles; she couldn't imagine anything could make losing him okay.


	17. DA2, Isabela fHawke, Favor, PG

_**Prompt**__: Hawke's Favor_

_**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**__: Isabela/f!Hawke(Puck)_

_**Rating**__: PG_

_**Notes**__: Written in response to a prompt fest over at the dragon_age community on livejournal._

* * *

"Those are my smallclothes."

"Andraste's ass, you're right. How did those get there?" Puck laughed, and danced out of reach when Isabela grabbed for the bit of black fabric looped through her belt. "Don't tell me you're embarrassed!"

Isabela snorted, clearly intending it to sound more derisive than it did. She dove again, and again Puck scurried away.

"I'll have you know I've been looking for that pair. I likedthose panties!"

"And I likedthat scarf you 'borrowed,' so fair's fair."

The mention of the red band around her bicep made Isabela stiffen. For a moment Puck feared she'd made a mistake; she'd never openly acknowledged the favor before. But then the pirate queen relaxed and settled, defeated, into a chair by the fire. She made another half-hearted attempt at her underwear when Puck moved to perch on her lap.

"That's not the same," Isabela murmured.

"True. Mine is much sexier."

Isabela laughed her warm gleeful laugh, and Puck couldn't help but kiss her.


End file.
